


Conjurer of the Flame

by KelpietheThundergod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Episode: s11e01 Out of the Darkness Into the Fire, Episode: s11e02 Form and Void, Episode: s11e03 The Bad Seed, Gen, POV Alternating, Season/Series 11, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:05:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5053435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The candle flickers. She hums under her breath. It calms, soothed. Shadows crawl over the walls, they follow the sun. Would follow the sun, if they weren't in a cave. Would eat the sun, if they'd get out.</p><p>Dust falls from her sleeve with whispers. Her back is cold, she leans closer to the flame. Out where shadows are still chased, it's been a long long time since she was there. Remembers, sometimes. That morning, a heartbeat and a lifetime away. Cold, cold winter morning. The sky so blue, while she was burning bright. Sat up in her bed, white linen and bare walls. A cross above her head, the church bells breaking through the air. Her hands, the same. Her eyes, the same. But now every shadow had a life, a voice. And oh, the things they told! Tales of the fallen. Tales of the damned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conjurer of the Flame

 

 

 

 

 

_one cannot be_

_without the other_

 

 

 

All around, and in every single thing. In every thing that breathes, life, blood.

In every thing that dies.

She knows, she knows! Wants to laugh, forever, because it is all so _clear_. All clear to see, so easy, so easy to break and mend and break all over. All over. Every kind of a damnation, every gift. Another slice is dried, she puts it on the table made of rough and blackened wood. Blackened not by fire, but by magic. But oh, she laughs – it _is_ fire! She can feel it, feel it crawling underneath her skin. Her living skin, her dead skin. She takes the slice, she takes her blood. Her red blood, and she writes.

The candle flickers. She hums under her breath. It calms, soothed. Shadows crawl over the walls, they follow the sun. Would follow the sun, if they weren't in a cave. Would eat the sun, if they'd get out.

Dust falls from her sleeve with whispers. Her back is cold, she leans closer to the flame. Out where shadows are still chased, it's been a long long time since she was there. Remembers, sometimes. That morning, a heartbeat and a lifetime away. Cold, cold winter morning. The sky so blue, while she was burning bright. Sat up in her bed, white linen and bare walls. A cross above her head, the church bells breaking through the air. Her hands, the same. Her eyes, the same. But now every shadow had a life, a voice. And oh, the things they told! Tales of the fallen. Tales of the damned.

She knows them. She pities them. She laughs and bleeds and curses them. The ones that are – the ones that will be. Risen from the lakes of fire, blackened to the root. Kings of the desert, snakes in the grass. She knows them; she has broken them and mended them. And broken them all over. She fears for their tales, their secrets and their wisdom. Even the ones holding the world on their shoulders – they will fall before they rise and fall again. Fall into a bed of flowers, rise into a darkened sky.

She writes, in her blood – what to give. And what to take.

 

 

 

_I don't know this Death_

_and he doesn't know me_

 

 

Standing in a field, with the one who freed her.

For the first time in so long – peace. She had forgotten what it was. Forgotten anything but being locked down and in chains. The one who freed her, she sees it in his eyes. In his soul. He knows and understands. What it is like. To not be free.

To be trapped under the weight of the earth and all the stars. To have no peace.

Maybe he will have it now. Because she has it, now. The field moves, it has breath and life. She has breath and life. And lives she wants. Lives she needs. There is a void here, left behind. It cannot be without her. She leaves the field behind, returns to the time the one who freed her thinks is now. She needs to gain her strength. She needs a form.

A king of nothing finds her. He has lives for her, he brings her to a place he says is safe. He has a machine that flashes lights and sounds and tales at her. She likes the windows, even though she cannot see the sky. The have colors on them, people. Saints, she learns. The king laughs, because all of them are sinners.

She likes the lives even more than the windows. They're like suns inside her, warming her. They're all around her. Some blackened, some black, some white. Some are broken, some are barely worn. She wonders, why they think they're different. She wonders, why they do not want for her to take them. When there is so much she will give.

 

 

 

_your eyes_

_so burdened_

 

 

Once he's alone and in his room, he stares at himself in the mirror. It doesn't, shouldn't, make any sense – he knows his eyes are green, his blood is red. But his thoughts say, this has never mattered. No matter what his soul looked like, what he fought, what he clawed off his heart. The world still paid. The ones he loves still paid.

There is blood at the corner of his mouth, dark shadows under his eyes. He touches his jaw, winces at the pain. Washes his hands, finally gives up watching himself. Someone walks down the hallway, a door opening and closing quietly. So far, they've been leaving him in peace. It might be undeserved – it's definitely not gonna last. Some of the pain he's dealt out, he's gotten it back today. Is holding onto it, carrying it around with every step. It's what he can do, what was coming for him.

For the world, it won't change a goddamned thing. Destruction unleashed, just to set him free.

He sits down on the edge of his bed, rubs tiredly at the good side of his face. Stares at his hands. Thinks of what she said, that they would always help each other. There is fear underneath those thoughts, fear of everything he does only digging all of them deeper in the mud. If this is all around him, and in every single thing. If it's true, if it's their future what he saw.

He breathes, lies down on his side. Crosses his arms over his chest, doesn't wanna see his hands anymore. Feels cold, exposed. Can't sleep, because he'd welcome the dark behind his eyes. Keeps the light on, his eyes open. Breathes. Breathes.


End file.
